that I am God'?"

And the Major looked out upon the summer sea, lit by a million globes of
living fire, and then upon the waves which broke in flame upon the
beach, and then up to the spangled stars above.

"What do I know of these, with all my knowing? Not even a twentieth part
of those medusae, or one in each thousand of those sparks among the
foam. Perhaps I need not know. And yet why was the thirst awakened in
me, save to be satisfied at last? Perhaps to become more intense, with
every fresh delicious draught of knowledge.... Death, beautiful, wise,
kind death; when will you come and tell me what I want to know? I
courted you once and many a time, brave old Death, only to give rest to
the weary. That was a coward's wish, and so you would not come. I ran
you close in Afghanistan, old Death, and at Sobraon too, I was not far
behind you; and I thought I had you safe among that jungle grass at
Aliwal; but you slipped through my hand--I was not worthy of you. And
now I will not hunt you any more, old Death: do you bide your time, and
I mine; though who knows if I may not meet you here? Only when you come
give me not rest, but work. Give work to the idle, freedom to the
chained, sight to the blind!--Tell me a little about finer things than
zoophytes--perhaps about the zoophytes as well--and you shall still be
brave old Death, my good camp-comrade now for many a year."

Was Major Campbell mad? That depends upon the way in which the reader
may choose to define the adjective.

Meanwhile Scoutbush had walked into Penalva Court--where an affecting
scene of reconciliation took place?

Not in the least. Scoutbush kissed Lucia, shook hands with Elsley,
hugged the children, and then settled himself in an arm-chair, and
talked about the weather, exactly as if he had been running in and out
of the house every week for the last three years, and so the matter was
done; and for the first time a _partie carree_ was assembled in the
dining-room.

The evening passed off at first as uncomfortably as it could, where
three out of the four were well-bred people. Elsley was, of course, shy
before Lord Scoutbush, and Scoutbush was equally shy before Elsley,
though as civil as possible to him; for the little fellow stood in
extreme awe of Elsley's talents, and was afraid of opening his lips
before a poet. Lucia was nervous for both their sakes, as well she might
be; and Valencia had to make all the talking, and succeeded capitally in
dra